


For His Own Good

by Queen of the Castle (queen_of_the_castle_77)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 15:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_the_castle_77/pseuds/Queen%20of%20the%20Castle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qui-Gon experiences a moment of clarity that will change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For His Own Good

**Author's Note:**

> I’m pretty sure when I set out to write this that I intended it to be pure fluff. Yeah... that really didn’t happen. Takes place not long before ‘The Phantom Menace’.

Qui-Gon rested his chin as casually as possible on the tips of his steepled fingers. He leaned forward almost imperceptibly, trying to seem unperturbed by what was occurring on the practise mats below even though watching it made his breath catch in his throat.

Despite his efforts, obviously something of his inner lapse in serenity showed. From a few seats over, Ason Lyhn took one look at him and chuckled knowingly. “You needn’t worry, Master Jinn,” she said. “I’ve seen your Padawan fight many times before. It seems to me that he can hold his own against most of the sabermasters, Renclen included, am I right?”

Qui-Gon exhaled and managed to hide his relief far more successfully than he’d hidden the fact that his avid concentration on the sparring match clearly went beyond the usual interest of a Master in his Padawan’s performance. Whatever concern Knight Lyhn believed she’d sensed from him, it seemed she was thankfully way off base about the true reason _why_ Qui-Gon couldn’t manage to take his eyes off his Padawan’s body dancing across the floor as blue and orange lightsabers reverberated together again and again.

“Kenobi’s certainly talented and centred enough to manage himself,” Knight Lyhn continued to assure him. “In fact, his Trials must be just around the corner now, am I right?” 

The familiar pang that shot through Qui-Gon’s chest every time someone brought up that possibility reared its head. 

Yet again, Knight Lyhn seemed to misunderstand its source. “Yes, it’s difficult to imagine how they could so suddenly turn from children in need of constant guidance to near-Knights,” she said, seeming to want to commiserate with him. “But then, Padawans all seem to grow like weeds, am I right? So it inevitably happens too fast to believe. My own Padawan seems to have gained ten inches of height and at least double the understanding of the Force that I remember him having, all overnight. It’s mind-blowing.”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon agreed, “it can be difficult to reconcile.” Privately, though, he admitted to himself that his own problem was exactly the opposite.

He’d never had a problem remembering that Obi-Wan was a grown man. He was, in fact, hyper-aware that neither the muscles flowing and flexing between those tunics nor the shrewd intelligence behind those eyes as he assessed the other fighter’s next likely move could be mistaken for a child’s. He knew every aspect of Obi-Wan’s manhood _intimately_ , in point of fact. There could be no mistake there. 

He _knew_ how close Obi-Wan was to his trials. He wished he didn’t, given how impossible and painful it was for Qui-Gon to imagine a time in the not too distant future when Obi-Wan wouldn’t be at his side, where he rightly belonged.

The fight playing out below them ended abruptly in a flurry of moves that left Obi-Wan standing bewildered one moment and then on his back seeing stars the next. The glowing orange blade of a lightsaber came to rest just inches from Obi-Wan’s neck, only to be pulled away when Obi-Wan announced affably, “I suppose I’d better yield or else risk losing a chunk of my neck.”

There was a scattered applause from the observers sitting around the salles as the match concluded with Obi-Wan accepting Master Renclen’s hand and helping himself to his feet.

Obi-Wan bowed deeply and said, “Thank you for my lesson, Master Renclen.” 

Qui-Gon’s lips curved slightly upwards at how Obi-Wan infused the often-used ceremonial words with decided sincerity where many Padawans in the same position often sounded merely humbled or embarrassed, or even as if they were trying to smother some small amount of resentment over having been publicly defeated.

As the next duelling pair entered the ring, Qui-Gon approached his Padawan and nodded silently towards the door, signalling that they wouldn’t be staying to watch the sabermasters cycle through the remainder of Obi-Wan’s contemporaries. Obi-Wan fell in behind him, following him out of the salles without even the slightest limp to evidence the toll his body must have taken over the drawn out sparring match.

Of course, the fight had left its mark in ways that could not be so easily hidden, such as the thin stream of blood that was running down from Obi-Wan’s already bruising nose. As doors closed behind them and the elevator began its steady ascent up to their level of the Master-Padawan wings, Qui-Gon acted on the impulse to reach out and touch his Padawan’s injury sympathetically. Obi-Wan winced slightly and reached his own fingers up to his face. He prodded delicately at the bridge of his nose, testing it and looking surprised at the ensuing pain, as if he hadn’t even noticed he was hurt until Qui-Gon had brought it to his attention.

“If you’re not careful,” Qui-Gon warned, “You’ll end up with a nose that matches mine.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing,” Obi-Wan joked. “You know I’ve always said you wear it like a badge of honour. It makes you look... distinguished.” Obi-Wan reached for Qui-Gon’s face as if in mirror to Qui-Gon’s earlier action. Qui-Gon caught his hand before fingers could brush tenderly against his face in an unmistakeable show of their familiarity, though. He turned the captured hand over perfunctorily as if checking it for damage to cover up his real intention of preventing Obi-Wan from unthinkingly giving them away. Even standing seemingly alone in this enclosed space, they could still be observed by the Temple surveillance system. 

_//We’ll reach our quarters shortly,//_ Qui-Gon projected, and Obi-Wan nodded slightly to indicate he’d heard the thought.

“You do me proud, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said aloud. “The battle was well-fought.”

Obi-Wan shot him a wry half-smile. “Master, I was beaten soundly into the ground,” he reminded him. “I think I left pride back on the mats.”

“The contest was hardly as unequal as you’re making out,” Qui-Gon replied. “You held out for a long time against a sabermaster, and even had him on the retreat often. It was only the fact that you had no experience in that particular combination of moves he used against you that left you momentarily powerless to counter, and now that you’ve been exposed to it I believe I can safely say that you won’t have that problem again in future. Such passing down of experience is the purpose of having senior Padawans engage in these matches. And the salient point – the thing that makes me proud, as I said – is that you bore his victory over you very well. You took it as a lesson rather than just a loss, as a Jedi should.”

“You’re just saying that because it reflects on how well you’ve performed as a Master, training me up to be a _proper_ Jedi,” Obi-Wan bantered. 

“If anyone suspects that I’ve been teaching you anything at all other than how to follow in my footsteps as an infamous rebel, they need only go consult with the Council to be disillusioned of that,” Qui-Gon mused. 

_//Oh, I think you’ve taught me quite a lot more than that, actually,//_ Obi-Wan thought mischievously at him as the elevator arrived on their level. _//And you certainly haven’t neglected to teach me obedience in_ some _areas.//_

Qui-Gon hid a smile. _//And yet I assure you that in some respects you still have so much more to learn, my young Padawan.//_

_//Then of course I would be only too happy to submit to your teachings, my Master.//_

The way the word ‘submit’ rolled from Obi-Wan’s mind, almost like a purr, would have made Qui-Gon immediately grip his Padawan’s shoulders and proceed to kiss him thoroughly senseless if it weren’t for the fact that straying eyes might inadvertently catch them at it. As it was, the mental image of Obi-Wan kneeling at his feet like some kind of offering made Qui-Gon considerably lengthen his strides towards their quarters so that Obi-Wan practically had to break into a jog to keep up. 

Once the doors slid shut behind them, Qui-Gon was finally able to push Obi-Wan backwards against the nearest wall and bring his lips to his Padawan’s neck. Obi-Wan moaned and tangled his fingers in Qui-Gon’s hair, holding him in place in turn. Qui-Gon pulled away just enough to growl in Obi-Wan’s ear, “One of these days you’ll manage to tempt me into doing this out there where anyone could see, and then the Council will _really_ have something to lecture us about.”

Obi-Wan didn’t look particularly chastened by that. “While you know I’d hate to give you any more reason to clash with them, I _would_ like to know how I’m honestly supposed to restrain myself, even in public, when I could literally _feel_ the how you were watching me during that whole match. I think they call it ‘predatory’. It’s a wonder I didn’t fall on my backside sooner, with a distraction like that.”

Qui-Gon ran a hand lingering down Obi-Wan’s front, feeling the tight muscles ripple slightly as he carved a path over them. “I love watching you fight. I hardly ever get to see it from an outsider’s perspective, since I’m usually fighting either with you or alongside you.”

“I’d rather spar with you than anyone else, though,” Obi-Wan confessed.

“I’d rather do something else entirely with you,” Qui-Gon countered, his hand sliding further downwards and making Obi-Wan promptly gasp at the more purposeful contact.

“Good idea,” Obi-Wan mumbled. “Sparring’s overrated anyway.”

Qui-Gon dipped his hand into Obi-Wan’s leggings and finally got to touch him skin-to-skin, as he’d been longing to do ever since Obi-Wan had first stepped onto the training floor and saluted his Master with a cheeky smile before turning to his opponent to engage in combat.

“Oh Force,” Obi-Wan groaned as his Master began stroking him to full hardness. “Oh _Force_ , please, more.”

Qui-Gon did his best to accommodate him as Obi-Wan ground desperately into him and tilted his chin up to request a kiss.

The only problem was that Qui-Gon wanted to give him _much_ more. More than he should, in fact. He wanted to pull Obi-Wan firmly against him, body to body, and feel the heartbeat that raced faster or slower in direct response to what Qui-Gon’s fingers were doing, as if his body was an instrument for Qui-Gon to play. He wanted Obi-Wan to give himself up completely to Qui-Gon – even if just for the short time that they were entwined in the heat of each other – and he felt a kind of certainty that Obi-Wan _would_ allow that if only Qui-Gon specifically asked it of him. He desperately wished he could experience that kind of _possession_ over Obi-Wan, though he knew he shouldn’t crave it, ever.

The realisation was enough to make him recoil.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t,” Qui-Gon said as he abruptly pulled away from Obi-Wan. He searched for an excuse, and found one ready-made right in front of him. “You are, after all, injured. You should go to the healers to have your nose checked out. It might be broken.”

Obi-Wan gaped at him. “Master!” he protested.

“We could be called out for a mission at any moment,” Qui-Gon said mildly, crossing his arms in front of him. “You know that if you ignore your health now you might never get the chance to attend to it later. That could be dangerous.”

“But Master, _right now_?” Obi-Wan practically whined, his hand brushing demonstratively over the bulge trapped once more inside his pants.

“As I said earlier, my Padawan,” Qui-Gon answered, “I still have much to teach you. We’ll start, I think, with a lesson about the consequences of teasing.”

Obi-Wan squirmed unhappily. “I can think of far less cruel ways to get your point across than getting me all worked up like this and then just leaving me in the lurch,” he accused.

“But none of those, I imagine, would make such an impact.”

Obi-Wan pointedly looked down at Qui-Gon’s tented leggings. “You’re punishing yourself as well, you know.”

“I’ve always been willing to make sacrifices for your training,” Qui-Gon pointed out.

Obi-Wan sighed. “You know, once I’m Knighted I just might have a few lessons of my own to teach you if you keep this up,” he warned. “And didn’t you tell me just last week that I’m capable of great creativity when I apply my mind?”

That pang was back again. Qui-Gon pushed it away.

“That is some time away yet. But I shall look forward to it,” Qui-Gon lied, “including whatever devious lessons you dream up for me in the meantime, if it means that you’ll finally be recognised as my equal.”

“Yes, we could be properly together then,” Obi-Wan agreed happily. “We wouldn’t have to skulk around as if we were breaking the Code or something.”

Qui-Gon could practically see that future through Obi-Wan’s eyes: the two of them as Knights, together always in ways that they couldn’t be now purely because of some Council rule about Padawans that had nothing to do with the Code and everything to do with antiquated tradition. 

He could also see the more probable path that Obi-Wan was optimistically ignoring: Obi-Wan being sent off on solo missions to establish himself and Qui-Gon once more being pressured to take on another Padawan, with the two of them only managing to see each other on the rare occasion that they both happened to be at the Temple at the same time.

That prospective future filled Qui-Gon with something that he hadn’t wanted to fully admit to himself before: almost physical twinges of _fear_. 

And everyone knew where Master Yoda insisted that fear led.

“That sounds perfect,” he said instead, running a hand tenderly through Obi-Wan’s short hair and giving him a forced smile.

Obi-Wan took that opportunity of renewed closeness to try to sneak a kiss and encourage Qui-Gon to recommence what he’d started, but Qui-Gon saw through his ploy and directed Obi-Wan towards the door. “The healers,” he instructed firmly.

“Yes Master,” Obi-Wan said long-sufferingly. “But when they declare me fit?”

“Perhaps then we shall start a different lesson,” Qui-Gon said. “One which I’m sure will be infinitely more enjoyable for both of us.”

Obi-Wan’s reluctance to leave suddenly seemed to be replaced with a sense of urgency to go, if only to get back sooner.

Even so, Obi-Wan refrained from rushing off like an impatient Initiate. He left with dignity despite his state of likely aching arousal, looking every inch the composed Jedi as he walked briskly away down the hall. 

Every day Qui-Gon saw new signs that the man he was looking at was already Knight material. He must be just about to take his Trials, Knight Lyhn had said earlier, and she was hardly the first to mention as much to him. The Council itself was starting to hint that his Padawan would soon be ready. 

Unless, of course, something got in the way.

What they had been doing wasn’t strictly against the Code on its own, no, though there had been a few occasions when Obi-Wan in particular had seemed to quietly worry that they might be stepping over the line. But, on the other hand, the _attachment_ that Qui-Gon couldn’t deny feeling any longer was most certainly forbidden, and for good reason. He wasn’t even sure when he’d crossed that line – maybe he’d felt that way all along, even before they’d become more intimate – but all that really mattered was that he recognised it in himself now. Perhaps Obi-Wan – even with his prescience – didn’t foresee the danger, but Qui-Gon was well acquainted with what could happen when a Padawan so close to Knighthood was exposed to that kind of selfish temptation. He suddenly saw the potential for damage in inexorable detail.

As he waited for Obi-Wan to return, Qui-Gon sat alone in the quarters that he knew Obi-Wan probably wouldn’t share with him for much longer. He wondered silently whether it might not be better – certainly for Obi-Wan if not for himself – if he started gently pushing his Padawan away instead of holding onto him for the little time they had left together. After all, how could he really justify risking a deepening of the attachment? 

He was Obi-Wan’s _Master_. It was his job to protect him, not to expose him to the Dark.

What Obi-Wan wanted more than anything was to be a Jedi. Duty came first for him; above himself, and Qui-Gon imagined surely above his Master as well.

And what Qui-Gon wanted more than anything was for Obi-Wan to never have reason to regret their time together. Though he doubted Obi-Wan would actually blame him, knowing him as Qui-Gon did, if their relationship stopped Obi-Wan being Knighted – or worse – he’d certainly never be able to live with _himself_. Qui-Gon might be willing to defy the Council when it was only at his own peril, but not if it was going to risk so deeply hurting the man he loved.

He would sacrifice almost anything for Obi-Wan’s sake. But, on the other hand, he thought he was _just_ selfish enough to want one last night where Obi-Wan was still tangibly _his_.

So when his Padawan returned tonight he would take Obi-Wan into his arms, and to his bed, and he would pretend that there would never be a day when he wouldn’t be allowed to have those things. But tomorrow...

Tomorrow, and every day thereafter, he would do as he must.

~FIN~


End file.
